


How They Got Together

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Superwholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John demonstrate their methods to Sam and Dean by deducing how long that couple at the bar have been together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How They Got Together

**title:** How They Got Together  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
length: 2672 words  
genre: SuperWhoLock!!  
rated G  
pairings: Nine/Rose, John/Sherlock, brotherly Winchesters

[In the last age](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/135130.html), [](http://jessalrynn.livejournal.com/profile)[**jessalrynn**](http://jessalrynn.livejournal.com/) kindly prompted: Rose and the Doctor (of your choice) learn of the existence of a betting pool on how they'll "get together".  Somehow, out of that, I managed to wrangle a SuperWhoLock fic.  I could not let 2012 go without writing a SuperWhoLock, so here is Sherlock deducing the Doctor and Rose in a Pub with Winchesters. 

“Well, I shouldn’t like to boast, but if you must have an example... that couple at the bar. How long do you think they’ve been together?”  Sherlock flickered his silvery gaze at the bar, then back at his little circle.

Dean looked over lazily.  Sherlock could see that Dean, despite his insouciance, had at least attempted to hone his observational skills, raising them tolerably above pathetic. 

“The blonde and Vinnie Jones?” 

“Vinnie Jones?”   his brother repeated, sarcastic.  The gentleman in question was tall, with close-cropped hair and strong features, wearing a heavy, dark leather jacket.  Sherlock thought Sam’s overly casual glances could have been a bit more surreptitious, but he supposed it must be difficult for a man of Sam’s size not to stand out.  

“You knew who I meant, didn’t you?”  Dean replied. 

“Okay, Sherlock. What should we be seeing?”  John pronounced.

“Do try, John.”  Sherlock allowed the corner of his mouth to lift slightly.  John was usually more motivated when he felt that Sherlock was amused. 

“Hm.  Okay.  Older man, military bearing.  Girl a bit young though, working class, shop girl maybe.” John straightened in his seat, his jaw tightening – slight, but a neon sign to Sherlock.

“John, must you be so judgmental?” Sherlock sighed.

John glanced up.  “He’s using her.  Trying to regain his lost youth and that.”

Sherlock lifted his eyebrows, hoping John would continue. 

Dean shook his head with a light chuckle. 

“Sorry?” John said. His hackles, once raised, were slow to come down. 

“ _He’s_ using _her_?” Dean asked, reversing John’s emphasis. “Look at her.  Bottle blonde, tight clothes – she’s taking him for everything he’s worth.  She won’t let that poor sucker out of her clutches till she’s wrung him dry.”

Sam’s face contorted into a fierce scowl, eyebrows lowering.

“Problem, Sammy?” Dean drawled.

“It’s just – you always see the negative, Dean.  Can’t they just be, I don’t know, friends, without having to be _using_ each other?”

“Ha!” Dean laughed.  “Bottle of Jack says they’re more than ‘just friends.’”

“In my experience,” John said tightly, “trying to read that sort of thing from the outside leads to misunderstandings.”

“Nonsense,” Sherlock said.  “Body language.  Look how he angles his body.  He’s very aware of the room – military bearing as you noticed, of course, John, – but even as he scans the room, he’s focused in on her.  He’s not ‘playing her,’ as you Americans would say.  In fact, he checks his movements toward her to keep them more casual than he really desires.” 

John drew circles on the table with his condensation. 

“Yeah, so, she’s taking him for a ride, like I said,” Dean said. 

Sam kicked him under the table. 

“What? Super Genius agrees with me,” Dean said, sitting up straighter. 

Sam scowled.  “He’s protecting her, Dean.  He feels responsible for her.”

John took a long drink of porter.  “I don’t know, Sherlock.  Maybe you’re right, or maybe he’s just hyper-aware of his surroundings.  It’s common enough.”

Sherlock glanced around the table and gave a slight nod of concession, but said, “His awareness of the room may come from his history as a fighter, but his desire for her is plain enough.  He wants her, but he doesn’t want her to know how much. Sam’s right, he feels responsible for her safety, her happiness.  He wants to impress her, but he doesn’t want her to see how much it matters to him to keep her happy.”

“What about her, then?” Dean asked.  “How come you think she’s on the up and up?”

“John?” Sherlock encouraged.

John sighed. “She likes to shop – her outfit is trendy and nicely matched– but she’s not over-dressed for a night at the pub, her clothes are old and comfortable.  She wears jewelry, but no ostentatious gifts, just colorful trinkets.  She’s not after him for gifts or money.”

“But how can you tell they’re together? That was the original question,” Sherlock prompted. 

John frowned.  “It’s hard to put into words.  Something about the way she looks at him.  The way they speak.  Not talking non-stop like a new crush, they’re relaxed and comfortable with each other. But when he opens his mouth she hangs on every word.”

Dean was peering at the couple more intently.  “You’re right.  I take it back.  She’s got it bad.”

Sam brought his mouth into a tight little smile, the younger brother’s reined-in I told you so.

“But are they having sex?” Sherlock asked. 

“Why is it any of our business? You make it sound so sordid,” Sam complained.

“Crime is my business.  Catching the cues when people are sexually involved is the key to solving so many murders.” 

Dean lifted his glass to Sherlock and took a drink.

“There’s no murder over there, unless her dad catches her with him,” John muttered.

“Father’s dead, or possibly left long ago,” Sherlock stated. “It’s all in the way she looks at him.”

“Daddy issues?” Dean said, shaking his head.

John pointed at Sherlock.  “She’d be just as likely to look at him adoringly if she had an idyllic relationship with her dad, as none at all.”   He sat back.

“Idyllic? Hardly.  Raised by a single mum who spent or spends most of her time fishing for men. Just look at that makeup.”  Sherlock eye-rolled at the girl’s fashion sense.

“This is all well and good, speculation,” Sam said, “but we’re never going to know, so it’s academic.”

“Academic,” Dean parroted, with quote fingers.

Sherlock sat back, with a grin of relish.  “There are a million scenarios we could use to find out – we could send Dean to chat up the girl—“

Dean looked interested till Sam muttered, “Dean doesn’t like getting punched in the face when it’s not in the line of duty.” 

Dean slumped back. “True.”

“We could send John to chat up the gentleman—“

“Sherlock,” John said, aggrieved, “I’m not—“

“Of course you are,” Sherlock said, a Cheshire smile transforming his features.

“—your gigolo, and my sexuality is my own business, thanks very much!”

“You mean – you two – aren’t—“ Sam frowned, blushing.

“Assumptions, what did I say about them?” John said to Sam, missing Sherlock’s wink. 

Sam just shook his head and Sherlock grinned even more widely. 

“But the easiest way would be to ask them.”

“Sherlock!  You can’t just—“  John sputtered, but it was too late. His partner had already pushed back his chair, stood up, crossed the room, and offered the man at the bar his card with a slight bow. 

“Here it comes,” John said, bracing for Sherlock to be punched in the face instead of Dean.

The group at the table gawked helplessly as the wary countenance of the man in black leather split open into delighted laughter.  The man grabbed Sherlock’s hand and excitedly introduced him to his companion – girlfriend? they’d soon find out.

Sherlock ordered another round of drinks from the bartender, and led the two back to John, Sam, and Dean, who looked on in shocked silence.  John stood, offering his hand, and belatedly, Sam and Dean followed suit. 

“Doctor,” Sherlock said, “I’d like to introduce you to my friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson—“

“A pleasure, a very great pleasure, Dr. Watson,” the man said, beaming with happiness as he shook John’s hand with great warmth.  John shook, somewhat confused at the man’s unexpected enthusiasm.

“Sam and Dean Winchester, colleagues from America,” Sherlock continued. 

The Doctor’s eyes flew wide.  “The Winchesters? Here in England?” 

Sam and Dean shifted, a bit alarmed at being recognized.  Usually it meant they were about to be arrested, in mortal peril, or both.  

The blonde girl waited patiently while her friend shook everyone’s hand very thoroughly. 

“Rose Tyler,”  he said with a proud smile, as she shook hands and they all seated themselves. 

“Sherlock Holmes!  Dr. Watson!  Working with the Winchesters?” the Doctor wondered, smiling widely.  
  
“A case,” Sherlock intoned.

“How do you know each other?” Dean asked, haltingly.

“The Doctor has had, shall we say, his dealings with the British Government,” Sherlock said. 

“Mycroft and I have crossed paths more than once,” said the Doctor.

Sherlock attempted to tone down his twitch and eye roll.

John leaned over to Sherlock and muttered in his friend’s ear.  “You were cheating.  You knew him.” 

“I wasn’t cheating.  I wasn’t sure it was him.  And I’ve never met the girl. This girl,” Sherlock replied, sotto voce.

The Doctor was smiling broadly at John when he sat back. 

“So, you’re a doctor, then?” John said brightly.

“Yes.  Not a medical doctor,” was the evasive answer. 

“He’s got qualifications in all sorts of things,” the girl, Rose, put in.

The Doctor nodded, perhaps a bit smugly.

“How long have you two,” Sherlock said abruptly, wiggling two fingers at them.

Rose blushed, but the Doctor, oblivious, smiled.  “About a year.  Rose is a wonderful traveling companion.”

Dean nodded subtly at John. 

“Rose, could you help me? The bartender has our drinks ready,” Sherlock said, rising.

“Yes, of course,” she said, jumping up eagerly.

John saw Sherlock dip his head and drop five or six words into her ear, watched as Rose drew back in shock, took in that familiar look of perfect assurance that graced Sherlock’s devilish features.  John had sometimes imagined the scene between Eve and the Serpent.  Now he had a perfect visual reference.

“I didn’t know Sherlock had ever worked with Hunters,” the Doctor was saying.

Sam cleared his throat.  “We were called in by an old ... acquaintance ... with some  .... very powerful enemies, and it turned out that Sherlock ... had a file on her.”

John wondered at the Winchesters.  Not everyone had to watch themselves so closely to keep the word “demon” out of everyday conversation.

“Demons?” the Doctor said, and both Sam and Dean choked on their drinks.

“Stop it,” Rose said with a grin, returning at that moment.  Sherlock was carrying pints for the Doctor, John, and Sam, while Rose was carrying a tray with whiskey for Dean and Sherlock and something fruity for herself.   “He does that.  Likes you to think he knows everything.”

“I’m sure it’s not possible for one man to know... everything,” Sherlock said as he returned to his seat.  Rose looked up at that, but said nothing as she sipped at her straw.   John was amazed at the complex mixture of challenge, arrogance, and innuendo Sherlock managed to load into his baritone purr. 

The Doctor’s blue eyes flashed.  “Depends on what you think is worth knowing,” he said. 

“What do you think is worth knowing?” Sherlock shot back, smiling. 

“Everything,” the Doctor retorted. 

“Circular,” Sherlock said.

“True,” the Doctor replied. 

John felt like he was at a tennis match.

“I could tell you one thing you know, that you don’t think is worth knowing,” Sherlock answered assuredly.

“Yeah?” the Doctor replied, up for it.

“Sherlock,” John warned.  He recognized the look in the Doctor’s eyes. It was that look he imagined showed up in his own eyes just as someone was about to step over the line. 

Sherlock glanced at John, then at Rose.  The Winchesters were sitting back casually, their hands loose on the table, watching the exchange like men who had been in their fair share of barroom disagreements that had gone a bit pear-shaped. 

“Shall I?” Sherlock said to Rose.

Rose looked a little worried, but her deep brown eyes shone with a spark of defiance.  “If he already knows, then what’s to stop you from telling him?” Her voice may have shaken a bit, but John liked her spine.  A strong girl, this Rose.

“The two of you are deeply in love,” Sherlock stated.  “With one another,” he clarified.

It was like he had dropped a neutron bomb, John thought.  Everyone froze.  No one spoke, moved, breathed.

Sherlock removed a piece of lint that wasn’t there from the sleeve of his jacket. 

“Boring!” he drawled.  “I like more of a reaction to my world-shattering pronouncements,” he said to John.

The Doctor had gone white, and now an alarming high blush had bloomed in his cheeks. 

Rose, already flustered from her exchange with Sherlock, was quite red.

The Winchesters were watching everything like hawks, clearly ready to fight their way out if the Doctor went ballistic on Sherlock. 

John lifted his glass. “Congratulations!” he said heartily, and downed half the pint.

“Ta?” said Rose, weakly. Her gaze was trained on the shocky face of the Doctor.

“John thinks you’re too old for her,” Sherlock drawled carelessly, “of course he doesn’t know the half of it. Dean says you,” he stared at Rose, “have Daddy issues.”

Rose’s confusion turned to fury in an instant, and the probability of a brawl escalated rapidly in John’s estimation.

“And that you’re taking the Doctor for a ride—using him for personal gain,”  Sherlock added, examining his cuffs.

“No! No!” Dean said, placating with his hands.  “I took that back.  Didn’t I, Sam? I swear I took that back!”  He’d clearly felt the slap of righteous fury before.

“Why are you doing this?” the Doctor said quietly to Sherlock. 

The pain in his voice struck John hard.  He gripped Sherlock’s thigh under the table. 

“I assure you my motives are noble.  The two of you are expending a great deal of energy hiding your true feelings from each other.  In your, shall we say, line of work, that level of distraction can be lethal.  Clear the air, and save each other the grief.”

The Doctor, hesitating, looked at the blonde girl, who’d moved to clutch at one of his hands with both of hers, her focus back on him as soon as he’d spoken, fury evaporated into concern for him.   

“Really?” he said. 

“Of course!” she answered. “As if it’s not painfully obvious.”

“Really?” he asked again, beginning to smile.

“Yes!” she shouted. 

They stared into one another’s eyes, and then fell laughing and crying into a hug so emotional and intense that a group of women two tables over burst into hoots and applause. 

“Clear the air, you said,” John said, frowning at the table.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock agreed softly. 

“I’m bloody well in love with you, you great sodding wanker,” John said furiously.

“I know, John,” Sherlock smiled.  “The feeling is mutual.”

“Ah! you tosser!” John said, punching Sherlock sharply in the arm. 

“Ow! John!” Sherlock said. 

“Right.  In a pub.  In public.  A public pub.  You tell me. I’m off,” John said, and seizing his coat, he stormed out. 

Sherlock hastily stood.  “Do call me, won’t you?” he said to the Doctor. “I’ll text you,” he said to Sam.  “John!” he called, chasing after the small hurricane of John's own brand of righteous fury.

“Wow,” said Dean, to Sam, as Rose and the Doctor weren’t paying them any mind.

“Wow,” Sam agreed.

“I thought the British were supposed to be emotionally repressed,” Dean said.

“I guess eventually they snap,” Sam answered.

“I’m not actually British,” the Doctor interjected, not even looking away from Rose’s beaming, tear-stained face. 

“He’s an alien! from outer space!”  Rose laughed, only a little bit hysterical. 

“Okay,” Dean said, and he and Sam stood.

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said, and the Winchesters beat a hasty retreat.

“Let’s get back to the Tardis,” Rose said. “I want to wash my face.”

“Yeah. Okay,” the Doctor said, but as he helped her up from her chair, he stilled.

“Rose Tyler,” he said, brushing back a strand of bleached blonde hair from her face, all sticky with tears and ruined makeup.  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Go on,” Rose said. 

Then he kissed her, and the table of women erupted again into cheers and hoots as their embrace revealed just how long they’d wanted each other and how deep their feelings had grown. 

“Get a room!” someone finally shouted. 

Rose pulled back, breathless, and took a little bow, before she and the Doctor ran hand in hand out of the pub, toward the rest of their lives. 


End file.
